


And Dessert, Too

by dethdonut



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Food Kink, M/M, Solo Stuffing, Stuffing, fat kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 10:33:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4176576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dethdonut/pseuds/dethdonut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave's appetite has grown since living with John, while his will power has dwindled. Tempted by a chocolate cake, he debates if he can finish it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Dessert, Too

**Author's Note:**

> An old trade on Tumblr, heck..

This was just unfair.

Living with John was an interesting thing, to be honest. You weren't used to having a fully balanced meal with dessert after every evening, but you don't think you could complain. At first you found it to be a treat, clearing your plate even after several helpings, and then two or more rounds of dessert; the overindulgence had shown it's affects long ago, but you got used to your expanding waistline and simply bought new clothes. You told yourself that after the first few weeks of living with your best friend gone roommate that the temptation to stuff yourself silly with John's delicious dinners would die down, but they hadn't. Instead, your appetite and pants size continued to grow.

You were content with such, but tonight you really went overboard. John outdid himself with a full spread; chicken rollade with roasted potatoes, buttery green beans, and fluffy, rich homemade rolls. He had made enough for at least two night's worth of left overs even after one serving among yourselves this evening, but you rarely limit yourself to just one plate and tonight was no exception. After the fourth you were bursting, your stomach complaining and strained as you finished the last of the warm rolls, the platters John had laid out on the small dining room table left completely cleaned thanks to you. John seem unfazed and once he had cleared the table of dishes, he set a large, decadent looking chocolate cake practically in front of you. Your stomach lurched in nausea and craving for something sweet.

Before John could cut into the dessert, he was interrupted by the shrill sound of his ringtone. "Hello?" he answered the cell phone his employer had given him, "oh, uh, yeah I guess."

You rose an eyebrow at him and John put his finger up to motion he needed a second. "I'll be back in a sec, I have to take this call," he murmured to you, away from the receiver, and strode into the kitchen for privacy.

You were left alone with the cake sitting on top of the crystal cake platter John's father had given him, handed down from his Nanna. It was elegant and only made the pastry look that much more tempting. The case wasn't the only thing John had inherited from his grandmother, but her baking skills as well, evident by the numerous baked goods John would make daily, planned or not. And they were always so, so good. You knew the cake was spongy, perfectly sweet and above all, delicious; most of John's desserts were (then again, anything he cooked never not went unnoticed by your not so picky tastes). You gave in.

Just one slice, you thought, sliding the cake knife into the two-tiered pastry. You cut yourself a moderate piece, not terribly large, but certainly big enough to quell your craving. John wouldn't mind, you were sure that he'd be on the phone for another 20 minutes, give or take, judging by the past times work would call him; if he wasn't hung up on talking about overdue projects or whatever his boss cared about, he would've told to go ahead without him.

The first bite is perfect. Chocolate, smooth, rich- you practically hum as you swallow, digging your fork into the slice for another bite; this one is quicker, and less about simply tasting it. You scarf the piece of cake down in a heart beat, unaware how quickly you're eating, and find yourself disappointed You didn't really get to enjoy that piece, and figure one more small, tiny sliver wouldn't hurt. Ignoring the dull ache of fullness in your belly, you cut another slice. And another. And another after that.

It's really, really good. Good enough to stuff another loaded forkful of chocolate cake into your mouth despite how tight your shirt and waistband are getting or how you stomach is painfully pushing against the table in front of you. When the pressure around your middle becomes too bothersome you drop your fork, breathless, your fingers flying down to your zipper and pull it down. Your stomach rolls forward, now free from it's constraint, but it's still too full for your t-shirt; the fabric slides upwards, revealing a creamy slice of your doughy, pale, expanded belly. You groan, reaching for your fork against better judgement, and force yourself to finish off the rest of the demolished cake. You only pause to lick the corner of your lips, chocolate frosting and cake crumbles smudged along your cheek and lips. Your toes curl at the decadent, sweet taste.

The last few pieces are painful to get down, but you push on. You're far too swollen to continue, but at this point it would seem silly to leave such a small portion of cake left. Stuffing another bite into your mouth you can feel your shirt taut around your belly and the waist of your jeans digging into your underbelly; you feel cramped in your chair, ignoring the the heated tightness in your pants as he keep eating. 

Soon there's nothing but crumbs and globs of frosting left on the platter and you find yourself using your finger to scoop up the remains of the cake. You feel yourself bogged down the heavy, strained feeling in your stomach but push on, practically licking the surface clean of any hint of the dessert. When you're finished you can only slump back into your chair, your stomach huge and gurgling with pain and an uncomfortable kind of pleasure. 

"I'm guessing the cake was good?" John asks from the kitchen doorway, pocketing his cell phone. There's a hint of a smile playing on his lips and you feel your cheeks flush.

"Do I really have to answer that," you say almost through gritted teeth, not to be snippy, but simply because even talking is hard with a stomach this full.

"I can't believe you, a whole cake by yourself even after a dinner like that?" he leaves the threshold and walks around behind you, his hands finding their way to the back of your seat, "you must have a belly ache from a stuffing like that."

You bite your lip, mostly just to keep yourself moaning just thinking about the amount of food you've just consumed. You're not embarrassed for John to see you like this, really only just how you've let him turn you into an extreme glutton. You take a shallow breath though and reply, "Like you wouldn't imagine."

John's hands crawl from their perches and slide down to your swollen tummy, his fingers cool on the heated flesh of your stomach. "I think I can help with that," he giggles, leaning down to kiss the side of your neck.

You close your eyes from the sensation of relief coming from the belly rub John's giving you and decide that yeah, living with him is certainly interesting, but you honestly don't mind.


End file.
